


River

by dark_muse_iris



Series: Call Me Mistress [2]
Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, BDSM, Cumplay, Dom/sub, F/M, Femdom, Foot Fetish, Hand Jobs, Master/Pet, Originally Posted on Tumblr, POV Second Person, Petplay, Praise Kink, Prostitution, Sex Work, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-16 01:53:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16075880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dark_muse_iris/pseuds/dark_muse_iris
Summary: The Mistress spends an evening with “River,” a young stockbroker who serves as her obedient pet.Excerpt:His fingers plucked out a new dog collar from the drawer and presented it to you. It had taken a month to arrive, no doubt due to the fact that it was a custom-made, black, Italian leather collar fashioned for his neck size. The silver-plated buckle and smooth finish of the strap were a testament to the artistry of the craftsman who handmade it."Very impressive," you commended as your nails tapped against the metal clasp. "Are you ready to begin?"River’s face became stoic as he prepared himself for play. "Yes, Mistress," he nodded, clearing his throat."Then kneel," you replied in a firm tone.





	River

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing: Namjoon x OC 
> 
> Genre: Smut, a touch of fluff
> 
> POV: 2nd Person (from the Mistress’ perspective)
> 
> Warning: Sub!Namjoon, Domme!OC, sex work, BDSM, femdom, petplay, foot fetishism, cumplay, praise kink, roleplay, handjob, sexual themes, profanity

The client referred to as "River" was a young stockbroker who made several wise investments shortly after college. Now independently wealthy, he wanted for nothing, spending his money with a reserved responsibility uncharacteristic of his peers. As had been the case with many of your other clients from the business sector, he found you through your online ad, the one that was nestled discreetly in an adult website in which you had to pay to play. Online clients always came with that additional layer of caution and concern until they were properly screened and vetted, but thankfully his dossier returned without blemish. It was clear why when you met him for the first time and discovered that unlike his peers in business, River was humble, refusing to adorn himself with gaudy trinkets or brag about his good fortune. Instead, he chose to keep his overall style sleek and simple, much like his tastefully decorated condo which looked barely lived in. One look about the place let you know right away that he had never done a wild thing in his life. Well, that is until he hired you.

A very private man, River lived alone and appeared to have very few personal connections, romantic or platonic. This was likely due to his hectic work schedule which often left him visibly stressed. You once asked about his work to try to alleviate him, as many clients enjoyed conversation as part of their service, but he refused to talk about it, citing concerns of “forming an attachment” with you. For him, it was strictly business, which was all about the playtime and the exchange—his money for your participation. And that was fine by you; it was a refreshingly predictable and drama-free transaction that took place on a biweekly basis, just like payroll.

His tastes in the realm of play included a rather evolved form of petplay, which he requested immediately during your first meeting to negotiate the terms of your arrangement. You had been rather surprised by the selection, having expected a bit of light flogging with him being a more gentle and withdrawn type. Still, you were willing to entertain almost any fantasy for the right price and knew quite well, after years of business, that the sweetest looking men were often the kinkiest. And River was soft-spoken, with a gentle countenance and disarming dimples in his youthful cheeks. It was almost cruel, that a client who seemed so innocent would ask to be relegated to the role of a subservient mongrel, but you didn't question it. As long as you were paid on time and in full, you were willing to provide the service and treat him accordingly. And River always paid early, with generous tips, especially when you allowed him to touch your feet. That little surprise fetish had become his favorite activity of late.

* * *

 

As you stepped off the elevator, your stomach tickled with excitement at the crinkling sound of the paper takeout bag brushing against your calves as you approached his door.  _He's going to be very pleased_ , you thought as your nose detected faint traces of the contents inside the packaging.

You stood outside his condo entrance and pulled out your cell. Upon seeing the notification of a new deposit in your bank account—the full amount, as agreed—you promptly rapped your knuckles on the door. The door opened as you were greeted by your awaiting client, dressed comfortably in a loose, white undershirt and navy silk dress boxers.

"Good evening, Mistress," he smiled sweetly, flashing his dimples as he dutifully retrieved the takeout bag and walked to place it on the kitchen countertop.

"Hello, pet," you reciprocated his greeting as you set down your large, leather bag next to his sofa. Your hands slowed as you loosened the belt to take off your coat, offering River the chance to confirm you were dressed to entice him. He hummed contently at the sight, letting you know he approved of your wardrobe selections, then took your coat and hung it on the rack by the front door. As you mentally prepared to begin your session, your eyes spotted the small stack of cash atop the bookshelf: your tip for the evening which was always too generous, but nevertheless appreciated.

"Has it arrived yet?" you inquired, trying to mask your enthusiasm.

"It came yesterday actually," he responded, moving to open the drawer in the side table closest to you. You could tell he was nervously excited, as he had been on the phone earlier today, but you were beginning to understand that River enjoyed his presents—and this was one he bought for himself.

His fingers plucked out a new dog collar from the drawer and presented it to you. It had taken a month to arrive, no doubt due to the fact that it was a custom-made, black, Italian leather collar fashioned for his neck size. The silver-plated buckle and smooth finish of the strap were a testament to the artistry of the craftsman who handmade it.

"Very impressive," you commended as your nails tapped against the metal clasp. "Are you ready to begin?"

River’s face became stoic as he prepared himself for play. "Yes, Mistress," he nodded, clearing his throat.

"Then kneel," you replied in a firm tone.

He dropped to his knees like a man too eager to please. Grasping the lower edge of his undershirt, he pulled it over his head and let it fall on the floor next to him. Your eyes inspected the way his tanned chest lifted with each breath, how smooth his skin appeared. He was motivated, his eyes following your body’s movements as you paced the wooden floor, letting your heeled boots click decidedly against its hard surface.

"Your safeword, pet?" you prompted to ensure he had remembered.

"River." The vowels were placid on his tongue as the chosen word brushed across his lips.

"That's right," you affirmed, stepping forward to bend down and wrap the collar around his neck. His Adam's apple bobbed as the strap enclosed, leaving just enough slack for you to slip a couple of fingers in to check for tightness. As you tugged against the soft leather collar, his eyes trained on the black lace tracing over the swells of your breasts. Naturally, you knew this would occur, as you selected a bodice meant to tempt him to stare. He was right where you wanted him. You allowed his eyes to linger a little while, to enjoy the view as you fastened the clasp, then you rebuked him.

"Did I give you permission to stare?" you asked, sharply jerking upright on his collar, causing him to flinch.

"No, Mistress," he gasped, closing his eyes, alarmed he had been caught.

"You want to stare like a dog with your tongue out, you can bark like a dog too. Do you understand?"

He motioned that he did, his eyes meeting yours and brimming with enthusiasm.

"Speak!" you commanded sharply.

He barked once, loud enough to communicate he had every intention of obeying this evening.

"Good boy," you praised in a low tone, dragging your hand to scratch behind his left ear. "Your bad behavior almost cost your treat Mistress brought for you. Tsk, that would have been a shame. Are you going to behave for me tonight and not speak unless I tell you to?"

River leaned his head against your motioning hand to enjoy the feeling of your touch on him, and nuzzled against it, nodding affirmatively.

"Stay."

You sauntered to River's kitchen with a beaming expression on your face, pleased that his ass was planted firmly on his wooden floor like the good dog he meant to play. As you made your way to his quartz kitchen countertop, you took a pause to recall where he left his favorite dish.  _Upper left, next to the sink_ , you remembered.

Your fingers hooked the handle of his cabinet door and pulled it open to find the stainless-steel dog bowl on the highest shelf. Laser-etched with the words "Lil' Monster" on the side, it served as one of his favorite accessories for playtime. Retrieving a large serving spoon and fork from his utensil drawer, and a standard plate from the cabinet, you began the work of preparing the dinner you planned to share together: beef tips and rice, topped with rich gravy.

You scooped a modest serving of rice onto your plate and spooned some of the gravy-laden beef tips next to it on the plate. For River's bowl, however, you scooped a much larger portion, layering the beef tips on top of the rice and taking care to drizzle extra gravy for good measure. When you were satisfied with the portion size, you took the large spoon and mixed the food well, as if River were the kind of dog who would show preferential treatment toward the beef and neglect the rice completely. You glanced over your shoulder to find your companion was still seated, but was now leaning forward to try to get a look—or a smell—at what you were making for him. A smirk peeked from the corner of your red lips as another opportunity to scold your pet presented itself.  _Maybe I’ll let him slide this time_ , you mused,  _since he is sitting so nicely for me_. Once the food was thoroughly mixed with the gravy evenly distributed throughout the dish, you whistled.

"Here, boy," you spoke in a chipper tone, as though you were calling a real dog to dinner.

You set the bowl down on the floor with a light clang as you heard the scrambling sounds of River crawling on his knees across his living room floor into the kitchen. A part of your stomach always twisted in joy whenever you beheld a man groveling in such a subservient way. River was especially potent, as he preferred to perform the act while maintaining eye contact as often as possible. He was gifted with focus, and you would be lying if you didn't admit to enjoying it just a little too much.

When he reached the bowl, he sat upright and looked at you obediently, silently asking permission to eat. The edges of your mouth curled into a grin as you gave the word, "You may."

He grinned to himself and proceeded to bury his face into the pile of food, tenderly savoring each and every taste with the sloppy, sloshing sounds that come when one doesn't use dining utensils to eat. His salivating tongue and plump lips worked diligently to usher the delicious mash into his mouth and as he chewed each mouthful, you could hear his breath puff as though he were trying impatiently to cool off the food at the same time. He communicated his pleasure with each eager swallow, always accompanied by the faintest of whines which you found to be incredibly endearing.

"You're such a good boy," you cooed, leaning down to pet his head gently. As your fingertips brushed against his hair, his chewing slowed as he lifted his head to press affectionately into your hand. River always enjoyed being petted and praised.

You took your plate and sat at his modest eat-in kitchen table. Crossing your ankles delicately under your chair, you began to eat your meal. Each forkful of food was savory, with just the right amount of spices to make anyone salivate. The gravy was the perfect consistency, and it took a good deal of self-control not to chuckle at knowing River was tasting the same thing, no doubt drooling over how delectable the food was.  _I will definitely use this restaurant again_ , you mentally noted.

The meal continued in silence—well, as much silence as there could have been from a man eating eagerly from a dog bowl. You maintained small bites of your meal until your plate was clear, with only traces of gravy left behind. The sounds of your pet scarfing down his food began to slow, attracting your attention. Your head turned to gaze down at him only to find his head angling from side to side, a maneuver which allowed him to lick up every last bite. It was clear to see his intent to perform his role to the fullest, and you continued to spectate with titillating satisfaction.

Shifting in your seat, you moved to hold your plate below the table, tilting it in his direction. It was degrading to offer him the chance to lick your plate like a common mutt, but this was just another piece of playtime which allowed him to live out his fantasy. You gave two sharp whistles to get his attention.

"Here, boy," you called with a raised eyebrow. His head tilted upwards from eating as his eyes met the gift you offered him. His chin and cheeks were sticky with remnants of rice and gravy, but he responded as you required, abandoning his bowl and inching closer toward you, poking his tongue out provocatively as he approached the dirty dish. As he crept closer, his eyes grew dark and mischievous, letting you know the decision to do this was much appreciated. He lifted his lids and stared into your eyes, then pressed the flat of his tongue in an obscene manner against the plate's porcelain surface. He took long, tender laps against the platter, slowing his motions and rolling his mouth’s moist muscle against the inner rim of it to collect all the drops of gravy.

"That's right,  _clean my plate_ ," you urged in a firm voice.

He hummed affirmatively against the dish as he held your gaze and continued in earnest. The sight of him licking up the remnants of your dinner and looking at you in such a primal way was enough to bring forth a low ache between your legs. You lamented that his list of playtime activities didn't include being commanded to perform oral sex, but a part of you held a little candle of hope in the back of your mind that he, like many other clients in the past, would expand his list in future encounters. Still, you knew it was selfish to want him that way, to want to go beyond traditional domme services, but the line between pleasing the client and pleasing yourself often blurred in this line of work. And in that moment, you wanted to feel his tongue brush against your folds with the same dedication and eagerness with which he lapped against the dish in your hand. You had every confidence that his seasoned taste buds and experience navigating tight corners would allow him to retrieve every last drop.

"You're such a good pet for me," you complimented, pulling the plate away and returning it to the table. "I have a present for you."

He perked up immediately upon hearing the news and grinned ear-to-ear, displaying the dimples in his sticky cheeks, before he began to lick around his lips, cleaning himself. The heels of your black boots made light taps against the floor as you fetched your bag and began to rummage through its contents to find the gift—a new bottle of red nail polish. It was a classic shade selected to match your outfit this evening, with a quick dry formula that would reduce wait time, giving you more time to play with your client. You showcased the bottle in your hand and waved it teasingly for him. He hummed contently at your thoughtfulness, now keenly aware that you were granting him a special opportunity to touch your feet tonight.

Pointing your index finger to the ground, you commanded, "Come."

He crawled along the floorboards until he reached your boots. His lips pressed together as his face wore a tense expression; it was as though he wanted to say something, but was struggling with the restriction of only being allowed to speak when you permitted. A smirk peeked from the corner of your mouth as you watched him buckle under the strain of obedience.

"Oh, what is it, pet?" you inquired with a saccharine tone. "Would you like to speak to me with your words?"

He nodded and sat back on his heels, serving you the sweetest puppy look he could paint across his features. The image of a grown man looking so defeated made your insides toss and turn pleasingly, your smile bathing in the fulfillment of having complete control over him.

"You may speak for now, but only because you've been so obedient."

"Thank you, Mistress," he breathed, as though a weight had been lifted from his bare shoulders.

"Would you like to paint my toenails tonight?" you proposed playfully.

"Please..." he answered, his voice laced with the yearning of a man who had been wanting to perform the task for a long time but seldom had the chance.

"Will you do a good job of it?"

"Yes, Mistress," he affirmed.

"No mistakes?" you pressed.

A gulp sounded in his throat as he felt the added burden you applied with that last line. "I'll be very careful."

"Good," you accepted, handing him the bottle of polish and taking a seat in the large armchair, crossing your legs authoritatively. "What do you think of the color?"

He beamed as he shuffled his knees a little closer to where you were seated. "I think the deep red shade will match your outfit nicely. Did you pick it out just for tonight?"

His voice posed the question in a hopeful manner. You knew he was gently querying the degree to which you prepared for his session.

"Of course, pet," you purred, leaning forward to stroke the side of his cheek with your fingertips. "Our time is special, and I know how much you enjoy touching my feet. Do you want to touch them?"

You bounced your foot teasingly at him as his coffee-colored pupils became transfixed on it.

"Yes, Mistress."

"Tell me how you want to touch them," you replied, lifting your chin with scrutiny.

River swallowed thickly, then answered, "I want to unzip your boots and pull down your nylons so I can touch your skin without the barrier."

"With your hands, pet? Be specific now."

"W-with my mouth—if it pleases you, Mistress," he hesitated.

You paused, trying to conceal the pleasure gained from his response. "Go on."

"I want to kiss your ankles and each of your toes," he continued, the excitement blooming in his deep voice, "and I want to suck on them."

 _Fuck_.

He stopped to wait for your approval. Your head, meanwhile, was swimming in the fantasies of having his soft, warm lips wrap around each toe. His darkening eyes and the way he diligently cleaned your plate earlier had already weakened you, more than usual for this sort of job. Feeling him suck on your toes would surely break your resolve, and staying in character was critical in roleplay like this, especially in the earlier sessions where boundaries were being drawn. Still, you were curious, never having felt his mouth on your body before.  _I could bend a little for him_ , you bargained with your baser urges,  _given how well he is doing so far._

"I'm afraid I can't let you have  _everything_  you want, River," you eased. "But I give you permission to use your mouth to do everything you said—except suck my toes. You may have that activity as a reward for next time, if you do a good job with the painting tonight and don’t disappoint me."

You expected to see his face fall a bit upon hearing your partial refusal, but the promise of a "next time" made him nod in understanding, as though he was adding a new goal to his to-do list.

"Thank you, Mistress," he said with relief, pleased to be given the opportunity to serve.

"You're welcome. Now," you pressed the bottom of your right boot flat against his chest, " _get to work_."

River brought his hand up to cradle the underside of your calf as his other hand pinched the boot's zipper and dragged it down slowly. Tenderly slipping the shoe off, he grunted in approval when his eyes fell on your foot. You smirked as he placed your leg gently on the floor, his thumbs brushing softly against your ankle. He shifted the angle if his body and crawled to your side, closer to your thighs which were exposed by your short, black leather skirt. The ends of his nimble fingers unfastened the clasps on your garters rather skillfully, and you began to wonder.

"You've done this before," you remarked, peering at him with narrowed eyes. "These clasps are usually a struggle for most clients."

"Mhm," he hummed as he planted a pleasant kiss at the edge of your thigh, where the nylon rested against the skin. "My ex used to wear these."

 _Ah, so he did have someone_.

"Where is this ex now?" you asked, carefully attempting to learn a little more about him.

"Gone," he answered matter-of-factly, continuing to place soft kisses along your thigh. "She didn't want to settle down—and she wouldn't let me touch her feet."

He pursed his puffy lips against the edge of the nylon stocking and nibbled until his teeth could secure a gentle grip of the material. Once he was confident he had a solid hold of it, he closed his eyes to relish the feeling of drawing the nylon slowly down your leg, the tip of his nose tracing lightly against your skin. The relaxed expression on his face demonstrated his pleasure in the act, and his pace slowed, elongating the task by a few additional seconds, just to let him live in the moment a little longer.

"Well, it's her loss," you concluded, causing him to chuckle under his breath.

"I know," he agreed, moving his lips to plant an open-mouthed kiss against the crest of your knee.

You watched intently as his mouth worked over your leg, blessing it with kiss after kiss from his pleasing, puckered lips. You couldn't wrap your head around why anyone would have passed up the chance to be spoiled this way, especially given how dedicated he was to serve. His eyes met yours and you felt the sensation of your face heating up. He was good at this—too good perhaps—and you amused yourself with the reminder that  _he_  was paying  _you_ , not the other way around. You were enjoying the pleasure of his company now, knowing you would enjoy the pleasure of spending his money later. That feeling of savoring the power, you felt, was one of the many reasons you stayed in this profession.

His kisses tapped tenderly over the curve of your ankle and scattered across the upper surface of your foot. "Mistress has such beautiful feet," he hummed deeply, letting the vibrations of his voice buzz against your skin.

"Thank you, pet," you simpered, a wicked urge stirring. "Now, use your tongue like a good dog."

Your words made him groan from the back of his throat as his tongue poked from between his lips and caressed your ankle, leaving a glistening trail of adoration. Its tip grazed the flesh along the side of your foot, from the base of the heel to the top of your big toe. Admittedly, you weren't much of a ticklish person, but you were more than affected by the way his eyes gleamed while performing the act. Even if this wasn't your thing, per se, you couldn't deny that you were enjoying yourself.

River moved to focus on your toes, giving every one of them a couple of kitten-lick flicks of his tongue, then a soft peck on each end. You knew he was loving this, as he struggled to stay composed during each sweep against your toes. Your sight traced along the slope of his shoulders down to the edge of his boxers to see an erect tent beginning to take shape. It pleased you, not from the perspective of a woman about to get laid, but from the confirmation your job was progressing as planned.

Once he had finished praising your lower limb with his tongue, he shook and twisted open the nail polish bottle. Pulling out the bristles and lightly dragging them against the lip of the small vessel, he removed the excess polish and prepared to begin. He gazed at your largest toe and touched the brush against the surface of the nail, depositing a drop of the rich, red shade. Then, with a steady, practiced hand and intense concentration, he pushed the edge of the brush forward until it almost touched the cuticle, before dragging the bristles back down the nail to spread the polish evenly. He dipped the brush back into the bottle, removed the extra polish, and continued the pushes and pulls of the tool until the toenail was fully covered—without a single stray smudge of any kind.

"You're quite good at this," you complimented, examining his handiwork. "I should have you paint my nails every time."

"I would be a lucky man," he mumbled lowly, as if he was speaking to himself. He continued to paint the rest of your toes on your right foot before placing it on the floor and moving to the left leg. He took care to twist the lid back onto the bottle before removing the dark nylon from your leg in the same sultry manner as before. You mentally thanked yourself for having enough limbs to enjoy his pillow-top lips a second time, the back of your head resting against the chair. Closing your eyes to heighten your senses, you allowed yourself to savor the feeling of your submissive's tongue lapping against each bend of your ankle and foot.

He switched back to painting the nails on your unpolished foot, being as careful as before, taking his time to ensure the task was performed properly. When the second foot was completed, you placed your feet next to each other on his floor and admired the finished product: ten perfectly painted toes in a row.

"You've done a fabulous job," you praised as you wiggled your toes for his view. "Care to blow on them for me, like a good boy?"

"As you wish, Mistress," he whispered, lowering his chest into a deferential bow to puff out even breaths of air to dry the polish. You knew it wouldn't take long with the quick-dry formula, but you were pleased with how subservient a position he placed himself. As his lips formed a tight "o" to increase the pressure of the blow, you imagined whether he formed the same shape whenever he pleasured a woman. You certainly hoped so, as you suspected lips like his had the capacity to form the snuggest and softest of seals. The imagery was enough to make you ache again, leaving you embarrassingly vulnerable to his charms should he decide to break character.  _Focus_ , you scolded yourself. You were enjoying him too much, far more likely to reward than to punish. There was something about his sweet countenance when he smiled quietly that made you relish in dominating him. There was something special about how quickly he wanted to serve, and serve completely, without a second thought or urge to question your instructions. You knew, with time, that he may easily become one of your favorites, thus opening the door to more explicit and intimate activities reserved for only a few.

You threaded your fingers through his hair and asked, "Would you care to slip back into being my good dog and take a stroll around the living room?"

His eyes flashed in excitement and he bobbed his head eagerly.

"Then go back to playing your role and fetch me your leash."

He laughed at his good luck and crawled to the side table with a drawer. Wrapping his soft lips around the handle, he used his oral dexterity to pull it open. River lifted his body up to prop his pretend paws against the table and dig for the leash inside. When he found it, he trapped the heavy metal chain between his teeth and crawled back toward you with the ends of the leash hanging from both sides of his mouth. Your hand extended to retrieve the chain from him, the light jangling of it stirring excitement in the both of you.

"That's right," you murmured with narrowing eyes. "Sit."

His leaned back on his heels and craned his neck forward to present the metal loop in his collar to you. Your pupils raked over the tendons of his tanned neck as you selfishly took an extra second to hook the leash to the new leather collar. River sat with a docile expression, enjoying the attention you were giving him. A natural instinct compelled you to scratch behind his ears as he stilled, which he welcomed with an affectionate lean of his head further into your hand, like a precious pet begging for just a little bit more.

"Ready, boy?" you asked as you stood from your seat, your bare feet brushing across his floors with each step. "Speak!"

River barked on command, his tongue hanging playfully as he assumed his role, shifting his form to root himself to the floor on all fours and wait on you to begin walking him.

"I think a nice, slow pace so I can admire your handiwork would be best, River. I really ought to fire my manicurist after this pristine job you've done," you said. "Heel."

Your client scrambled to move quickly to the left side of where you were standing. You grinned at how his tall body lumbered, the muscles in his back flexing with each press of his hands into the hardwood. His shoulders would be sore in the morning, reminding him of your playtime together, and this was a pleasing thought indeed.

As he heeled, you caught a glimpse to confirm that his dick was still hard in his boxers. A part of you felt sorry for him, but the other part of you knew this sort of tormented buildup was exactly what he paid for—what they all pay for. And a little tease might make him a tad more thankful in the end.

"Tsk, looks like you have a problem there that needs tending," you commented with a passive voice, leaning to gawk at his erection.

He gave you a small whine as if to plead for you to help him.

"Oh, you want your Mistress to provide you with assistance?"

River answered with a needy nuzzle of his nose against the side of your left thigh.

"Well," you offered, "how about we go for a walk first, get in your exercise. Then—if you're good for me and obey me completely—I will make sure to take special care of your little problem. How does that sound?"

Your client bowed his head eagerly, a furrowed brow settling across his forehead as he became determined to please his master and receive his reward.

"Then, let's walk," you suggested.

You took a few small steps forward while holding the leash with enough slack to give him room to move. He matched your walk, step for step, with his head upright and proud, like he was looking forward to the destination. The chain hung loosely enough to jangle lightly, a constant reminder that you were indeed walking a grown man. Your newly painted bare feet rocked heel-to-toe as you set a comfortable pace, like an everyday stroll in the park. It didn't matter that you were taking a turn around River's large condo; it only mattered that he was enjoying himself. And he loved being given tasks to complete, loved being petted, and loved being made to bark like a dog. You were resolved to make sure he was satisfied.

As you walked, you reminisced to your high school days when you were asked to consider prospective careers. Being a sex worker certainly wasn't it, but you knew that life often dealt a poor hand, and that the only way out was through, as they say. And now here you were, in this expensive neighborhood, getting paid top dollar to keep a pet for a few hours. He was kind, gentle, compliant, only seeking companionship for a short time to fulfill a fantasy unsated by previous partners. In your perspective, you were performing a public service, sordid but necessary, especially to the men like River who thanked you with both his words and his wallet.

"You're such a good pet for me," you said, leaning down to check on him as you continued your walk. He remained focused on moving in time with you, knowing you were likely to continue speaking to him.

"Always so obedient, so eager to please your Mistress," you coaxed. "I wasn't sure you would be up to the task of letting me be your master, but you perform well each time we meet. And that pleases me."

River coughed and shook his head to center himself, determined to keep crawling across the floor. The bloom in your chest as he started to falter compelled you to press on.

"I enjoy keeping you as my pet, feeding you dinner every visit...letting you lick my plate,” you cooed. “You lapped up that gravy so well, I wonder if you're as talented between a woman's legs."

Your stomach flipped as you indulged in the wicked comment turning over in your mind. Not only were you curious of the fact, but you wondered how he would react to you asking about it aloud. Unsurprisingly, his shoulder blades tensed at your words and his movement slowed considerably. He appeared to be affected by the mental image; you seemed to have planted it deep within his thoughts. You pulled up on the leash and gave a light scolding.

"Keep up, boy. You need your exercise— _I require it_."

River pushed himself further, eager to continue the walk as a bead of sweat formed at his temple. You knew your words were getting to him, as he was sensitive to praise as well as the roleplay and you were giving him at the same time. A quick glimpse at River’s condition confirmed it: the crawling with an increasingly hard erection had caused his dick to slip out through the opening in the front of his boxers. The hole, normally reserved for other functions, allowed his straining cock to bob freely as his knees slid along the living room floor.

 _Good_ , you mused.  _Let’s make this a little more interesting._

"Are you thinking about the reward I may let you have later?" you asked, targeting his baser instincts. "Because I'm thinking about it...and I'm wondering how long you'll last with your dick looking as eager as it does right now. Tell me, pet, do you want me to touch it? Do you want me to stop this walk and make you pant like the needy animal you are?"

"Fuck..." he huffed, halting his movements.

"Did I give you permission to speak?" you reprimanded sharply, having caught him breaking character. You peered down at him to find he was hovering awkwardly over a small set of droplets on the ground—traces of precum that had undoubtedly fallen from the hot end of his much-neglected cock.

"Tsk, look what you did,  _you messy boy_ ," you chastised with a raised voice, ecstatic the game had taken an unexpected turn. "Do you think because this is your house that you get to leave drips wherever you please? Explain yourself—use your words."

"I'm sorry, Mistress," he winced, his head hanging as he continued to sweat. "I didn't mean to."

"Sit."

River expelled a small sigh of relief for his shoulders, but sitting back against his heels only further exposed his length to your view. You turned to him and served a look disappointment, then scrutinized the drops on the floor in disdain; you made every effort to play the role of a disgruntled master whose pet had made a mess in the house.

"So, what do you propose we do about this, hm?" you asked in feigned frustration, tucking your bare foot underneath his balls. His eyes widened as he looked down at your foot in alarm, before he winced again and closed his eyes, leaning his head back as his chest rose and fell in rapidity. He was starting to unravel—you could feel it in the way his breathing had changed. You teased his scrotum unapologetically, wiggling and pressing your toes against his silk-covered flesh with just enough pressure.

"I don't know," he whimpered, then swallowed thickly. "I'll do whatever you want."

"Anything?" you stretched the word in a sweet voice before giving his balls another nudge with your toes.

"Yes, Mistress! God...please, I'll do anything!"

His voice was growing desperate, and a tiny part of you was starting to feel sorry for the poor dear, so you made your proposal.

"Very well. I'll keep it simple: you made a mess, and you'll clean it up— _with your tongue_."

He stared at you incredulously, cumplay not having been on the original set of requests. It was a test to see if he would let you push the envelope a bit more and try new things. You understood he could say "river" at any time and the game would be over, but as you stood there looming over him, you could see his eyes darken as he considered your command.

"Go on, pet," you urged wickedly, with a tug at his leash. "Lick it up for me."

River’s warm eyes met yours as he waited a moment—then he pressed his palms to the floor and bent his head low, almost reverently, keeping his face elevated above the drippings. You added fuel to ignite his motivation by planting the ball of your right foot decisively between his shoulder blades and applying downward pressure, coaxing him closer to his target. He exhaled harshly as you stepped on him, then stuck out his tongue. Flattening it to produce a wider surface area, he pressed it firmly against the grain of the wooden floor. With two sweeps of his tongue, he licked up his mess, leaving only a shiny trail of saliva behind. Taking the precum into his mouth, he lifted himself back up into a kneeling position and awaited further instructions.

"Show me your tongue," you commanded, gripping his jaw with your right hand.

He popped out the tender muscle to display it for your inspection, looking proud of himself for completing the task. As he wiggled his tongue to prove he had swallowed every last drop, you grew more satisfied with his obedience.

"That's my good pet," you praised with a pat on his head.

"Thank you, Mistress," he heaved a sigh as his dick, still in need of relief, twitched toward his stomach.

You leaned over until your lips almost grazed the shell of his ear, and whispered, "Get on the couch. Sit on your heels and spread your knees apart. I want to see how needy you are."

River was relieved to hear that he would be allowed to climb on the couch, as he had only been permitted to come on the floor in previous sessions. An urgency was painted across his facial features, undoubtedly from the length of time he had been hard with no relief by your hand or his. His gripping palms squeezed as he clambered across the cushions, preoccupied with his need for release; he hesitantly moved his hands as if he was deliberating whether to grab himself.

You cut off his hopes with your words, "Pet, if you so much as touch the tip, I will walk out that door and leave you here with nothing. You will sit on this couch and you will show patience, or you will be punished."

He bobbed his head frantically, communicating his willingness to follow your orders, before sitting upright with his ass pressed against the back of his heels, his knees spread widely apart. You knew this position would place stress on his thighs, but it prevented him from having full use of his hips, making him all the more dependent on you giving him what he wanted.

"Now take your hands and tuck them behind your back. Don’t release them until I say so."

River's brow creased as he accepted and obeyed your commands. His straining length continued to poke through his boxers, a painful reminder that he needed you to touch him soon. The chain leash attached to his collar was cold as it draped against his bare chest, the chill of the metal teasing him. You took the handle of the leash and pulled it taut until he sunk his neck under the strain of it. As you inched closer to his perspiring body, you wrapped the chain around your hand slowly.

"Do you like being my pet?" you hummed in a low tone, drawing the chain firmly, then looping it over your fist.

"Yes, Mistress," he panted, his eyes darting from your eyes to your breasts, then to the hand that controlled him.

"What do you think about when I pull on your leash, hm?"

You tightened the hold over him, watching his shoulders twitch under the rule of not being allowed to move. His cock sprung involuntarily as he struggled to swallow.

"I-I think about how much I want to come," he admitted, barely audible.

"Good boy," you cooed, threading a hand in his hair—then pulling sharply against his scalp, making him wince. "And when you want to come, how do you want to do it? Tell me."

"...I...I," River stammered at the thought, unable to form his response properly. You were close to making him crumble, the urge to stir the pot a little longer being difficult to resist. Wrapping the chain around your hand two more times, you moved closer and pressed your cheek against his.

"Do you know what I think, pet?" you whispered sinfully in his ear.

"What?" he rasped, his breathing unsteady.

You knew the next words from your lips would send him beyond a point of no return. Talking was, without a doubt, your favorite part of the job, and this client was especially receptive. Truthfully, you didn’t know whether you wanted him or just wanted him to squirm a bit more.

"I think you want to fuck your Mistress," you hissed.

With those words, you took your free hand and gripped his chin, then possessively licked a long, wet stripe against the side of his face.

"Fuck...," he rasped urgently, squeezing his eyes shut. “P-please…touch me.”

You laughed menacingly and unhooked his leash from the collar and let it drop on the cushion next to him. Amused by how disheveled your charge appeared, you rose from the couch to fetch your travel-size bottle of lubricant. Squeezing a fair amount into the palm of your right hand, you looked him in the eye and watched as he chewed his bottom lip between his teeth nervously.

"I'm not going to last long," he confessed, slightly embarrassed.

"You're not fucking  _me_ , pet," you assured as you gently slid your hand along the side of his shaft, making him hiss. "I'm going to fuck  _you_  with this hand, but you're not going to come until I say so, like a good dog. Bark if you understand."

A broken bark squeezed from his throat as he trembled with impetuosity. You were only gripping him loosely, allowing the lubricant to spread evenly along all sides before the real work would begin. It was clear in your mind that you would make short work of him, given how far you had pushed him already tonight. Your normal routine of maintaining a stone-cold bitch persona may be too much for him; you weren’t sure, as you hadn’t been working with him very long. There was a concern in the back of your mind that being too firm or too harsh in this moment would have a negative effect, and your job was to please the client. And he was so close; you could feel his dick pulsing in your hand.  _I should ease up, show a little mercy this time, since he's earned it,_ you decided.

“You may look at my breasts—but not touch them. You may also speak to me, if you wish. Don’t make me regret showing you this kindness, do you understand?”

He nodded urgently, as the grip of your hand tightened around the base of his cock. Your left hand pushed against his warm shoulder, bracing against him. You took care to lean forward just enough to give him a better view of your breasts, since you had taken the care to wear that bodice just for him. His beady eyes blinked slowly as your steady hand made slow, sensual sweeps along his length. With each lift of his eyelids, he took in the feast of your swelling chest, and the vision made him lick his drying lips as if he wanted to taste them.

"God, you're driving me crazy," he whispered, his shoulders rotating to try to diminish the tension in the muscles there.

"I know," you said nonchalantly as the corners of your mouth turned upward. "I'm a professional."

He chuckled at that, then groaned as you shifted your touch to include sweeps of your thumb over the weeping head of his cock.

"You're good at it," he concluded, letting his eyes roll backward in pleasure. His tall, tanned torso relaxed as he eased his body into responding to your touch naturally. Your client’s hips languidly moved in time with your bobbing hand, at least as much as the stressed position would allow. The flat of his stomach flexed under each labored breath as he began to approach his end, enjoying each merciful touch you granted him.

"I've put you through a lot tonight," you observed, twisting your wrist to create a tighter sensation for him, "but you've been a good pet and performed very well, very  _obediently_."

River sighed at your words, his eyes closed in focus as his breath accelerated. So, you continued the push.

"If I were feeling in a generous mood, and were to let you have one special treat for next time, what would it be?"

The question was specific, admittedly, but experience had taught you that at the edge of an orgasm, men would confess their most potent fantasies. If the fantasy was reasonable, you could always oblige and guarantee future business for yourself. And based on previous sessions, you suspected that River was holding out on telling you what he truly wanted, and that was to be expected. After all, he was a newer client and still nervous about asking for additional things for himself.

River panted in the back of his throat, then pushed past his hesitation, "I have this fantasy..."

His words stalled as you picked up the pace in your hand and pressed the ridges of your fingers along the underside of his dick.

"Continue," you ordered.

"M-mistress, I need to come—

"You will do no such thing. You will tell me your fantasy and then I may choose to be merciful," you retorted sharply.

He whined as he opened his eyes, darting his sight around to anywhere other than your chest so he could regain focus and not come without permission.

"Look at me, pet," you muttered.

Your client's eyes were swimming in arousal, his pupils engulfed in primal need, with only a touch of sweetness in them. He really did look like a puppy this way, with your hand around his dick and him teetering on the edge of spilling his load all over himself. The sight of him was calling to every sordid instinct in your body, and you wanted nothing more than to take him for yourself and make him beg until his throat was sore.

River took a deep sigh, having lost his nerve, then the words tumbled from his lips, "I want you to chain me up to that structural post next to the kitchen—and make me eat you out."

A wicked smile stretched from ear to ear as you felt your face heat up.

"But what about your dinner I always bring for you?" you asked, trying to keep from cackling with joy at procuring his confession at last. Your hand squeezed him playfully—before it was joined by your other hand to form a tight double-handed seal around his cock. The speed of your hands increased as he began to squirm like prey about to be caught.

" _Fuck_ — _you can be my dinner!_ " he moaned, his balls drawing up with increasing tension on the brink of bursting.

"You're damn right," you replied in a possessive tone meant to break him. Your hands became rigid to intensify the sensations along the most sensitive areas of his length. "It's time for you to come, pet.  _Now_."

River's abdomen clenched as translucent streams and spurts sprung from his slit, coating your hands with cum. His throat became sore with groans as he soiled his skin and silk boxers with his seed.

“That’s it, good boy,” you hummed in delight as you milked him, slowing your pace while his form tensed with each grunt and labored breath. As his high subsided and he flinched from overstimulation, you released your hold on him and his body slumped forward.

"Wait here, okay?” you instructed calmly, exiting your dominant role. “You can release your arms and your legs if you're sore.”

River was practically nonverbal, his hand bracing his temple like he was trying to collect himself. He gave an affirmative motion of his head and murmured an "mhm," which made you chuckle under your breath.  _I got him good_ , you celebrated. Your short walk to his powder room was a godsend, as you were trying to make it to the bathroom sink before any of his cum dripped on the floor.

As you ran your hands under the faucet water, you examined your reflection in the surface of the mirror. Blown out pupils, predatory in nature, stared back at you. The corners of your mouth perked up as you relished in the pride of a job well done. The tendons of your neck were sore from being bent over to say dirty things to him, but you were more than pleased with the result. His confession of wanting to participate in other activities would open the door to future business negotiations, and you felt encouraged by it. He was finally becoming comfortable, and he was a very easy client to serve; he had a sweet countenance, was unlikely to form complicated emotional attachments, and he was fun.  _Really fun_. At first, you had been skeptical about whether this type of petplay would even be effective, as most of your previous petplay clients just wanted accessories but didn't intend on adopting actual pet behavior. But River was very special, dedicated to being fully in the role. And it suited him.

You grabbed a washcloth from the cabinet under the sink and ran warm water over it, squeezing out the excess and returning to the couch. River was seated with his legs relaxed, feet planted on the floor. He appeared star-struck but very much sated as small pools of semen adorned his abdomen. When he noticed you had returned, he held his hand out to reach for the damp cloth.

"I can get it," he offered.

"No, no," you protested gently. "I insist."

Too tired to argue with the woman who had made his evening, River lowered his hand and allowed you to clean him. You folded the washcloth into quarters and wiped up the remnants of your evening together, sweeping the warm, damp fabric across his skin. His dick had softened, but was still hanging loosely out of his boxers. You took the flaccid length in your hand and pulled on it gradually, coaxing the last pearly drops of cum from the slit before wiping them away.

"Thank you," he mumbled, watching you clean up his mess.

"Any time," you assured. "You should get changed since you nearly soaked these."

A hoarse laugh escaped from his dry throat and the sound couldn't have been sexier to your ears.

"You're right," he agreed. "I came so hard I thought it was going to hurt."

You grinned suggestively, "I can make it hurt next time—if you want."

"I don't doubt it," he grinned, flashing his dimples, before walking to his bedroom to change.

While he was out of view, you rummaged inside your bag to find his last gift for the evening: a small travel container of cookies. You shook your head and felt embarrassed at how absurd it was to bring these, but a couple nights ago you just wanted to bake, and as you lived alone, there was no one to share with it. You didn’t want to assume the bodily consequences of eating all the cookies yourself, that was for sure. In a previous session, River had commented in passing about his favorite food being anything peanut butter-flavored, so here you were, armed with dog bone-shaped, chewy, peanut butter cookies. You were pretty sure you were the only domme in this area who brought baked goods to work, but you assured yourself that this was an effective marketing strategy. Hopefully, he would like them.

When he emerged from his room in a fresh pair of gray boxers and a loose white t-shirt, you saw the Italian leather collar was still wrapped around his neck. He sat next to you on the couch and never looked more relaxed. You exchanged no words, instead lifting your hands up to take the collar off. The strap felt warm and soft in your hands as you placed it on the side table and turned back to your client.

“I have a present for you, but don’t laugh…because I never do this.”

River quirked an eyebrow, “Okay...but why would I laugh?”

“Because I baked homemade cookies and thought you might like them,” you began, then quickly added. “Of course, you don’t have to eat these. I know baked goods aren’t in our agreement or anything. I just didn’t want to eat all the cookies by myself. Have to stay fit, you know.”

“Are you kidding?” River asked, perking up in his seat. “I love cookies. I never get to eat homemade ones because I don’t bake and—are those dog bone-shaped cookies?”

He began to laugh heartily at the cleverness of shaping the cookies into dog treats. You joined in the laughter and held one up for him.

“Look, I know it’s tacky as hell. Now open up, sugar is good for aftercare.”

Dropping his jaw, River offered himself for the cookie. You extended your arm and gave him a bite. His teeth pierced the treat and his face lit up as he instantly recognized the flavor.

“Aw, you made peanut butter cookies,” he celebrated with a cheek half-full of cookie and eyes like a child reliving his favorite taste. “Do you normally spoil your clients this way?”

“No, I’m don’t,” you replied, feeding him the rest of the sweet treat. “No one gets cookies. I’m being kind because you’re new and we are still getting acquainted, building trust. And I remembered last session you mentioned you liked peanut butter, and I wanted to bake so, here we are. Do you like them?”

“Mhm,” he responded gleefully.

“I’m glad. You can keep the rest to have throughout the week,” you said, sliding the travel container to his side table next to the dog collar.

“Thank you, Mistress,” he smiled, swallowing the last bite.

Patting your thigh gently, you gave him an invitation to the last phase of aftercare. At your cue, he nodded sweetly and leaned over to lay sideways, tucking his knees to his chest to curl into a ball as he cradled his head in your lap. From this position, you could run your fingers through his hair, pet him, and whisper closing words of reflection and praise. The nurturing aspect of this job was not well known outside of your client pool, but it was so important, as it gave you a chance to assess your submissive’s condition, discuss adjustments to activities, and leave a lasting impression.

He nuzzled his nose against the soft flesh of your thigh as though it was his pillow. The side of his head rested gently like a docile pet. It was intimate for you, interacting with him this way. An argument could be made that it could pose some emotional risks for him, but you knew closing activities like this would keep his trust intact and make him more likely to open up and remain honest with you in the future. There was a fine line in this work between business and pleasure, but you prided yourself on keeping enough distance where it was necessary, especially with a client so green as River who was keen on not forming attachments.

"You did very well tonight. You surprised me, but I'm very pleased with you," you whispered, carding your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly to release any tension in his scalp.

"I can't believe you made me lick my precum off the floor," he chuckled. “That was a first for me.”

"Was it too much for you?" you asked, pausing your movements. "You can tell me if it was. We don't have to do it again if it made you feel uncomfortable."

"No, no," he yawned, tranquility settling in his voice. "I just wasn't expecting to become harder after that."

"Was it because I made you lick it up, or because I stepped on you while you did it."

"Mm," he groaned. "Both."

 _Fabulous_ , you felt your chest bloom with contentment. "That's good news. I’ll remember that for the future."

You continued to rub his hair as his breathing evened out. The room grew still as several moments passed with no conversation. The silence was enjoyable—natural—and you appreciated these peaceful moments with him for the reflection it offered.

"Thank you," he mumbled, shifting his head slightly on your thigh.

"For what?" you inquired softly, continuing to pet him.

"For being here with me. Work’s been stressful in the last few weeks and I really needed the distraction. I know you don't have to agree to see everyone who wants to see you."

"It was my pleasure," you replied, applying pressure as you massaged behind his ears. "You're a very pliant submissive and I enjoy the work."

You felt his cheeks lift into a pleased expression, "I want to see you again in a couple weeks...I have to go on a long business trip first, but I would like to play with you when I get back."

"I'll check my calendar when I get home and send you some open times," you offered. "We should be able to work it out with that much notice, so thank you for letting me know ahead of time."

"Mhm...," he muttered, his voice barely audible.

After a few more minutes of you scratching his ears and rubbing his head, you detected the small sound of his heavy breathing, evidence that he had fallen to sleep.  _What a sweetheart_ , you mused, gently slipping your hand under him to cradle his head. You lifted his head up to give you just enough space to squeeze out and stand from the couch. Tiptoeing across the floor to reach your nylons, you tried to make as little noise as possible to allow him to continue sleeping.

You sat in the armchair and pulled your hosiery back over your legs, disappointed you had to cover up your newly painted nails. The little bottle of nail polish sitting on the side table would serve as a reminder to him that you agreed to come back—and that you had promised to let him suck your toes next time. Light whirring sounded in the room as you slowly zipped up your black heeled boots. As you stood from your seat, the metal zippers jangled a little too loudly.  _Shit._

River stirred, then pressed his hands into the couch cushion and lifted his head up, looking a bit disoriented.

"I'm sorry," you whispered. "I was just leaving. You should go back to sleep."

He wiped his eyes and cleared his scratchy throat. "It's alright. I should probably go for the bed, right?"

"I would recommend it. You'll feel it in your thighs and shoulders in the morning," you advised, moving to retrieve the tip money from the top of his bookshelf and place it in your bag.

Nodding in agreement, he walked toward the door and grabbed your overcoat. Yawning as discreetly as he could, he politely opened the garment for you. You slipped your arms inside and tied your belt, shielding your sinful outfit from public view. When you were satisfied that you were "presentable" for your journey home, you turned to your client.

"You're a sweet one, you know," you observed, slinging your large black bag over your shoulder. "There aren’t many like you. Don't lose that."

He smiled shyly at the compliment, giving you one last look at his innocent dimples. "I won't."

"That's a good pet," you said, giving him a small peck on the cheek and squeezing his shoulder affectionately. "Get some sleep."

"Goodnight, Mistress. Travel safely.”

As the door closed and your feet carried you toward the elevator, you pulled out your phone. Three new messages.  _My job is never done_ , you thought, eager to get on the subway so you could answer your mail. The ding of the elevator summoned the doors to open. You stepped over the threshold and opened a new voice note, speaking quickly into the phone before the doors would have a chance to open in the lobby on the ground floor:

"Client River. Send weekend dates for the next month to schedule next appointment. Text later to discuss expanding activities to include leashed oral sex fantasy. Agreed to toe sucking for next time. Confessed to liking cumplay and being stepped on; consider wearing stilettos next time. Retain beef tips and rice restaurant off 12th for future use. Tipped very well."


End file.
